Detour
by A Pisces Alone
Summary: Raymond Leon has a bit of free time on New Year's Eve - he knows what he wants, and how to get it. Rated for language and sensuality.
1. Chapter 1

Raymond Leon slowed his cruiser as he passed through the forbidding entrance to Zone 4, allowing the vehicle's automated toll system to grant him access, and the pleasant female voice greeted him. "_Welcome to New Greenwich." _

It never got old to him; the thrill of crossing over into Zone 4 free of charge, unimpeded, unquestioned. Even after the passing of the decades, there yet lingered the strangely satisfying feeling that he was getting away with something, and he smirked faintly to himself. The freedom of movement that timekeepers enjoyed was beyond price. And tonight, he would use that freedom - and a little free time - to take a special detour.

The well-landscaped streets were festooned with holiday lighting, a stunning galaxy of opulent cheer in stark contrast to Zone 12, where darkness ruled the night. Leon grunted to himself at the observational reminder - it had been a while since his last visit to New Greenwich, as evidenced by the fact that he'd not yet seen this year's seasonal display. But a visit was long overdue.

In the distance, fireworks suddenly bloomed as a silent and brilliant red flower, and after a few heartbeats, the corresponding boom reached his ears. Then more: a profusion of white explosions and another delayed smattering of staccato popping, so very like gunshots; a sound utterly out of place in New Greenwich.

Midnight.

_Happy New Year, _Leon cheered himself, and slowed the cruiser… no use reaching his destination too soon.

Finding a decent vantage point on a rolling, picturesque hill, Leon pulled over and threw the cruiser into park. Leaning back indolently in his seat, he lowered his window all the way, slung a careless arm atop the doorframe, and inhaled deeply - even the air was better in Zone 12, cold though it was tonight. He spat his gum into the darkness, then turned his attention to the Zone spread out in twinkling holiday glory below… and the spectacular pyrotechnic display in the sky over Phillippe Weis's home.

Like everything Weis did, the fireworks were meant to impress - they continued for more than forty gaudy minutes, and Leon imagined the spoiled guests becoming bored, as they did with everything, or growing stiff necks as punishment for their extended polite attention. He chuckled wryly to himself, though his own edginess was beginning to prod him. Never a man to remain in one place for long, Leon resented the extensive show taking place. It was holding him back from his objective. He tapped his fingers irritably on the steering wheel and heaved an impatient sigh… and just then, there was an undeniable climax of color and light; a final flurry of thudding booms rolled over the hill and vibrated the car's doorframe under his forearm.

It was over.

A monstrous pall of smoke lingered over the Weis residence in the distance; the new silence was sweet excitement.

At his urging, the cruiser bounded out of its waiting spot and back onto the road, a fleet accomplice every bit as sleek, dark and relentless as its driver. Leon's pulse quickened, his eyes dilated slightly at the thrill of the chase begun.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Any trouble, Mr. Leon?" The security guard leaned out of his booth slightly, looked behind Leon's cruiser, expecting reinforcements. Seeing none, he raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Not at all," Leon assured him confidently. "Just making a late appearance at the festivities." He smiled easily. It wasn't precisely a lie.

"Well, you just missed the fireworks," the guard informed him. "But please do enjoy yourself," he concluded with a faint disdain that Leon did not miss.

Leon gave a curt nod and accelerated onward, not deigning to reply, but not dismissing the man's snooty rudeness from his mind entirely, either. His history of opting out of social engagements was not serving him well tonight - security was clearly becoming suspicious of his occasional appearances on the premises. Going forward, a different game plan would be necessary… if the game was to continue at all.

The long driveway toward Weis's estate glowed with thousands of lights, but Leon's gaze was fixed on the house itself - his quarry was somewhere within the oversized monument to excess, and her proximity drew him with magnetic power.

At last entering the enormous semicircular drive, Leon prowled the cruiser for a good spot. He circled around once, twice, before finally choosing a prime location - one that was neither too close nor too far from the other cars. And one where she would see him.

He parked… and watched.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

From the upstairs window, Michele Weis parted the curtains a second time in disbelief, after checking over her shoulder to be sure no one witnessed her.

There was a timekeeper cruiser in the drive. And of course, there should not be.

For a moment, she went deaf to the sounds of the party surrounding her, as she grappled with the sudden decision thrust upon her. A sickening thrill shot through her, an adrenaline charged jolt that nearly buckled her knees where she stood at the upstairs window. She let the curtain fall shut, swallowed hard.

_Raymond._

Turning slowly away from the window, her hand trembled slightly as it held the delicate champagne glass. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry as cotton, and she hastily drained her flute of the rest of its contents, though it had no effect on the desert of her tongue. Fortunately, none of her guests seemed aware that their hostess had undergone any sort of shock to the system, and she sucked in a breath of relief that only served to increased her light-headedness.

Heart racing, she turned back to the window again…parted the silken curtain a third time.

The cruiser was still there, in the darkness nearly at the end of the drive. She bit her lip in trepidation and watched.

After a moment, the cruiser's white lights in the grille and windshield lit up… then went dark. A silent signal.

_Damn you, Ray. You would show up tonight, _Michele fumed in desperation. Tonight, when it would be hardest for her to get away. If it were even possible.

A hand caressed her waist, and, startled, she let the curtain fall closed again.

"What's got your attention out there, honey?" Phillippe moved close, and Michele did not miss the glint of suspicion in his eyes, which he attempted to disguise with a genial smile.

"Nothing special," Michele twisted gently out of her husband's grasp and moved away from the window, hoping desperately that her feigned nonchalance was convincing; her heart hammered furiously in her chest.

"Nothing special..?" Phillippe repeated lazily. Leaning over, he pulled back the curtain, took a brief, cursory survey of the view from the window, let it fall again. Studying her, he set his own champagne glass on a nearby table, then came to her again and wrapped an arm about her waist. He kissed her cheek gently. "You're bored, my dear."

Relief flooded Michele. He hadn't seen. Still, her pulse beat quickly, distressingly.

"Are you… all right?" Phillippe queried, his brow furrowing in concern. "You're very flushed."

Michele thought quickly; fanned herself, grateful for an opportunity to admit to her apparent discomfort, though she could not reveal its true cause. She drew in a deep breath and stretched her lips in a sheepish smile. "Oh, I… I think I've had a drink too many, Phillippe. That's all."

Phillippe smiled. "That does appear to be the case. You look positively giddy. Perhaps you should go lay down."

Nodding in agreement, Michele returned his kiss, and strode as unhurriedly from the room as she could muster. Her thoughts were a frantic chaos of nerves, guilt and desire. And yes - she admitted to herself as she made her unseeing, leisurely way down the wide staircase and into the foyer - anger as well. Ray Leon was just arrogant enough to assume that she would drop everything at the sight of his cruiser; that she was so eager for another session with him that she would throw caution to the wind even with a house full of New Year's Eve partygoers to contend with. She ground her teeth in passionate frustration at his selfishness and swore under her breath at him.

Moving to the downstairs front window, she threw another glance over her shoulder at her oblivious guests before checking outside.

He was still there. She could not see him in the vehicle - only a silhouette - but she could feel him. Could feel his darkly demanding presence… his need.

She chewed a manicured fingernail, aggravated and aroused by his unannounced appearance. The notion to strut directly out to his car and tell him to fuck off was a powerful one… as was the urge to seize him in a ravenous kiss. When their involvement had begun, she thought it had been clear between them that the affair was her decision - that she was to be the one who would control when, where and if they were to meet. Somehow - and she was unsure when this had occurred - Ray had wrested control of the affair, stranding her in her hunger and loneliness, so that she was ideally primed for these dramatic and sudden appearances he seemed to enjoy making. She had become his plaything, his jeweled and expensive toy to be enjoyed at his whim.

And if she did not go to him within moments, he would be gone. A strange sensation came over her - one that tensed her body, aggravating her with restless energy that seemed to want to beat its way out of her very skin. Her palms were sweating, clammy. She could not stand still, shuffling restively in her stilettos as if the ground moved beneath her.

In a moment of stark epiphany, Michele realized that she was experiencing something she'd never felt in her long life; something that was part of Raymond and had now infected her existence like an intoxicating disease.

Urgency.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Leon pushed back the leather sleeve of his coat, noted his time, and sighed through his nose. Five more minutes. If Michele did not show in five minutes, he would be forced to abandon his position. He had already spent a sizeable portion of his free time tonight in this holding pattern (he could thank her husband and his ridiculous showmanship for that), and he did not have much more to give. His frustration for the situation warred with his driving need for her, and he clenched his jaw tensely. Across-the-classes affairs never worked, and this was why. Women from New Greenwich didn't - _couldn't_ - appreciate how precious time was. No matter how well they understood the mathematics of it, they would, without fail, take it personally when he could only spend a scant hour with them, or was unable to see them at all.

Leon had learned to value quality over quantity. Michele craved - and expected - both. That was the rub.

Music from the party floated to his ears on a chill wind through his still open window, mocking him with what he was denied, daring him. His gaze locked on the window where he'd seen her last - downstairs - and he narrowed his eyes in thought. He knew she'd seen him; had seen his signal. Either she would come out, or he would leave.

There was, of course, a third option - a dangerous alternative; but never had Leon quailed from peril of any color. After all, he'd come this far in his mission tonight.

He could go after what he wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

Leon gripped the cruiser's inside door handle, was about to spring himself from the vehicle, when he saw her.

Michele rounded the northwest corner of the house in darkness, her satin-white party dress making her look like a lovelorn ghost from a long-ago tale. Her shapely and trim hips swayed as she picked her way through the grass in stilettos, her balance slightly off for having one hand behind her back to conceal something.

Slipping her personal security detail was never easy for Michele; her escape had clearly been made via the pool bath at the rear of the house, and Leon took her risky route as evidence of her determination to see him. He grinned.

"'bout time," he growled appreciatively, as she approached his cruiser. He opened his door, shoved his seat back several notches.

Michele waited, standing several feet away from his invitation, her hand still behind her back. "Don't you want to see what I brought?" She bent, leaning over tantalizingly.

Leon's eyes flicked to the front of the Weis home, then back to the mistress of the estate, noting the bottle of champagne she clutched behind her rump before settling on the gravity-induced swell of her breasts against her dress.

"Yeah. Nice." Leon stretched his left leg slightly, placed a booted foot against the lower door panel, and pushed it open wider, leaning back in his seat more yet. "Now get in here."

As always, Michele felt a blend of excitement and irritation at his brusque reception of her. His directness could be maddening, yet it was part of his attractiveness. Men in her world were often given to long, self-important ramblings of speech - tiresome monologues that wandered and lost her attention long before any sort of point was made. But Ray had a unique style of verbal shorthand: he said little, and said it as plainly as possible in a way that made her suspect that he'd been born in Dayton.

She toyed with the Dom Perignon behind her back, her fingernails digging into the torn foil at the bottle's neck, her pulse quickening at his close scrutiny of her, hesitating for several heartbeats. Raymond Leon was a daunting figure, a paragon of timekeeping efficacy and tenacity… and yet, Michele could never shake the sense of danger when in his presence. His powerful, whippet-lean body seemed ever coiled for explosive action, the set of his jaw and icy gaze beneath deceptively heavy-lidded eyes somehow a whispered warning.

It was this very sense of danger, of the unknown, that drew her inexorably to him. She cast another glance at the house, then climbed carefully into his seat with him.

Leon pulled the door closed, ensuring that it did not latch with much noise, and grunted softly as she straddled him in his seat, hiking up her dress to permit freer movement, taking a moment to savor the sweet, warm weight of her atop him. He inhaled, breathing in her opulent scent; his hand, powerful and darker against the white of her thigh, skimmed lightly beneath her dress in a slow tour along her limb.

Michele proffered the champagne, putting the bottle to the full pout of his lips and watching as he tilted his head back, gulping greedily of the potion so that some overran and spilled down his chin. Quickly, she dove in to retrieve this with her tongue and followed the wet trail to his lips. He seized her mouth in his, tasting her with bold and slow voraciousness, his other hand gliding into her russet tresses to grasp her by the nape of the neck, making her moan softly into his mouth.

Her delicate fingers played tentatively over the midnight leather of his coat, lingered upon the zipper at the throat of his body armor vest, frustrated by the barriers between his body and hers. She'd never seen him without these hindrances; each of their hurried unions had been as this one was to be - rushed and clothed - and inaccessibility to his body fueled her desire. She barely noticed as Leon gently pried the bottle from her hand, setting it on the passenger seat.

Breaking the kiss at last, she slid closer to him, crushing a few faint leathery creaks from his coat, felt the holster of his weapon dig into the underside of her left thigh… and the resulting hard grip of his hand over her thigh. Michele loved his reflexive response to his weapon being touched - loved to feel the momentary tension in him. Arching her body against his, she breathed in his ear, pulled his ear lobe gently with her lips. "Haven't seen you," she whispered.

Leon closed his eyes, the side of his neck warm with her breath. His entire body throbbed with need; and always, always, the seconds ticking down. Not just his own time relentlessly draining away but the even shorter time Michele could be gone before she was missed. "Yeah," he said huskily, turning to gently suck and nibble her throat. He spoke against her flesh, his hands covetously weighing and caressing both of her breasts, hating the satin which hid them from his view. She was grinding on him with sweetly torturous pressure, undulating with the warm and irresistible flow of a relentless tide, driving a low groan from him.

Michele loved these moments with him most - when he lost his stoical composure and gave in to sensation. She backed off briefly, raising up on her knees to allow him space to free himself, then watched his face hungrily as he filled her at last. Wanting to emblazon forever in her mind his handsomely furrowed brow, the deep, throaty gasp that escaped him. "Are you watching?" she murmured. He nodded, shooting a glance over her shoulder at the front of the house. She swept in to claim his mouth with hers again, their tongues dancing in a dizzying, slow knot as they clung and writhed together in the seat.

Never a passive partner, Leon seized her hips for leverage, moving with equal force against her, goading the rapidly escalating heat between them. With vicious satisfaction, he watched her toss her head back, her hair a red corona against the backdrop of his windshield and the fortress of her ostentatious house beyond… an unrestrained keening rising from her chest; an almost sorrowful sound, as if she bemoaned her own ecstasy. He plunged over the edge after her, taking one final, vigilant look at the house before shutting his eyes tightly against blinding clasp of climax and spilling a torrent of heated growls into the ether.

They rested against one another for a minute, Michele sagging against him in a satiated embrace, her fingers toying gently with the hair at the nape of his neck just behind his ear. She could feel his heart throbbing strongly against her own, even through the armored vest, and she wondered what else could ever impel that brave heart to race so. "What's the most frightened you've ever been on the job, Ray..?" she queried tenderly, yearning to know the dark timekeeper.

Leon hesitated at the question, stroked the soft river of her hair flowing over her back as he caught his breath. He'd faced the fear question innumerable times; he'd never felt comfortable answering it, unless it was a component of a conversation with another timekeeper. A fellow officer he could trust to empathize, to mow down the situation with humor, to offer up a comparable experience. With other people, whether it was a woman he'd bedded or a journalist seeking to humanize him for the press, he'd always felt a distinct sense of violation - as if someone were angling to highlight a personal flaw or ordeal he might have suffered. And the truth was, there had been too many harrowing instances over the decades to single one out as most terrifying. He decided, as always, to deflect.

"Are you fucking me or my job?" he said with a teasing smirk, pulling back to look her in the eye.

Michele held his gaze, feeding on his nearness, his attention. His impossibly handsome face ethereal in the dark, his pale eyes glinting that familiar warning.

"Both," she finally answered, her lips twisting in a wry smile. "You _are _your job, Ray."

Leon reached for the champagne bottle, wrapped his hand around its neck, pondering this familiar axiom. Both of his marriages had crashed and burned for the very observation Michele had just made; it had taken two tries and several decades for him to learn that his job was incompatible with any meaningful romantic entanglement. He'd adjusted to this; had learned to live without a primary connection to a specific person. "Yeah, well," he hoisted the bottle to his lips, downed a healthy swig, "That's what you like about me, isn't that right?" He locked eyes with her, daring her to deny it. "That's why you look out your window every night." He gestured with the bottle to the upstairs window of the Weis mansion.

Michele recoiled slightly, a microburst of mortification flitted across her face before she regained herself. "You're kidding, right? Boy, you have some ego on you, Ray."

"Again… part of my charm."

Michele barked a laugh and gathered herself to depart, sliding from his lap and into the passenger seat, her thighs still trembling from the brief exertion and adrenaline rush. She ran a hand through her hair, wishing there were a way to prolong her time with the haughty timekeeper. The cold reality of leaving his side to return to the New Year's celebration in the house filled her with apathy and chagrin. She straightened her dress, smoothing the rumples and wrinkles from their cramped lovemaking, and drew in a bracing breath.

Just then, the cruiser's transmitter broke the silence. "_One fifteen Alpha… Zone Twelve, twenty four hundred block of Fitzgerald… that's Fitzgerald road east… timekeeper needs assistance… correction, timekeeper down, timekeeper down…"_

Michele was still staring at the cruiser's display in numb paralysis when Leon thrust the champagne bottle at her, letting go of it so suddenly that she dropped it, spewing a fountain of the bubbly fluid over her knee. He started the cruiser, waking it to readiness with a thrumming purr, and thrust the car into reverse, slamming his foot onto the brake to keep it from rolling, and turned to her.

"I gotta go. Get out." His voice was taut with tension as he waited for her to respond to his command.

"Wait… I thought you were off duty.." she sputtered, stunned by the sudden transmission and his lightning reaction to it.

Leon's eyes were hard diamonds, the volume of his voice increased to a long-practiced authoritative timbre. "Mish, _out_! Get out!"

She stumbled from his cruiser, nearly spilling onto the drive, and hurried out of the way of the vehicle, which took off so suddenly that the tires emitted a sharp squeal on the pavers. Michele looked about herself quickly, to be sure no one in her home had been drawn to the windows at the sound, then stood watching the red beacon of the cruiser's taillights rapidly vanish up the long drive. Ray's abrupt, nearly violent dismissal of her had left her shaken - had she hesitated a moment longer in his cruiser, she was sure he would have planted his boot on the side of her ass and kicked her from her seat. Rage welled up on the heels of his disrespect of her - no one had ever treated her so. Oh, he was vile. She was more certain than ever that he'd been raised in the ghetto. She snarled at him, at herself in self-loathing for ever initiating their involvement.

Remembering the Dom Perignon clutched in her hand, she looked at it, then at the red wink of Leon's departure in the distance. With all the strength she could muster, she hurled the bottle in his direction. It spun in the air, wobbling end-over-end before falling to the drive in a tinkling crunch.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Leon did not slow for the Zone 4 gate; rocketing over the raised grate with lights flashing, the cruiser went briefly airborne, then almost bellied the pavement upon landing. Cursing himself for his self-indulgent detour to New Greenwich, he urged more speed from the vehicle, knowing that it was unlikely that he would reach the scene on Fitzgerald in time to affect the outcome. Mish had been right - technically, he was off duty for the night - but Leon considered himself perpetually on the timekeeper clock. Where he was needed, he went without hesitation. And nothing had the ability to set him into explosive action as effectively as two dire words: _timekeeper down._

He raced through Zone 8 at suicidal speed, glanced into his rearview to see another cruiser falling into his wake, lights flashing. It was a heavy response - timekeepers from adjacent zones funneling toward the trouble like white blood cells to an infection. Leon set his jaw grimly, put his foot down even harder on the pedal, the smell of spilled champagne in the cruiser filling his nostrils a sour rebuke of his hedonistic romp with Weis' wife.

No time to think of that now. His cruiser hurtled on, approaching the gate to Dayton. Somewhere in the ghetto, a fellow timekeeper had lost his hard-earned life - Leon steeled himself for the approaching moment when he would know the name of the deceased. And already, a righteous fury ignited in him - fury that would drive him ruthlessly to find the person who had committed the terrible crime… and make them pay.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Now for the shameless begging... please review! Come on, flog this writer into further action..!_


End file.
